


Lucky

by cellwright



Series: Pegoryu Week 2020 [4]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Pegoryu Week 2020, Role Reversal, ryuji and akira swap places in the story, ryuji tries out for the track team his first day, the track team isn't disbanded
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:06:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25770307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellwright/pseuds/cellwright
Summary: Ryuji is Shujins new country kid transfer student who tries out for the track team on his first day, and Akira is the quiet distance runner who's hell bent on avoiding him. Well, until Akira gets a little “extra discipline” from Kamoshida, and Ryuji’s the only one around to put him back together.Pegoryu Week 2020 Day 4: Role Reversal
Relationships: Kurusu Akira/Sakamoto Ryuji, Persona 5 Protagonist/Sakamoto Ryuji
Series: Pegoryu Week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1869463
Comments: 4
Kudos: 54





	Lucky

**Author's Note:**

> content warning for references abuse (from kamoshida), and description of bruises/blood. don’t fear though, this is a hurt/comfort fic!!

There was a yell, a shove-- then glaring red, white, blue, and the heavy weight of handcuffs burning on his wrists.

It was a little fuzzy when it first hit him, all washed away in police sirens and too-quiet holding cells, but he was on a train with his mom on their way to the city and all he could focus on was how his suitcase bumped against his leg every time the train swayed. 

He never liked the countryside anyway. 

It almost dampened the guilt of causing his mom so much grief when they told him Shujin had a track team. Almost. 

Even with his newfound record, Shujin let him try out on his first day. It was mostly because he was successful at his old school, but it was the sentiment that counted.

Ryuji itched to get back to running after spending months fighting a court case that they couldn’t possibly win, almost getting close to pulling his hair out while searching for apartments in the city whose rent was all outrageously expensive. That was his first lick of the city. He hoped it wouldn’t reflect on Shujin and it’s track team. 

\-----

Coach Kamoshida. Tall, wide, with a gaze that made Ryuji’s skin crawl the second he was introduced to the man by Principal Kobayakawa. It was shining golden and laced with malice. Ryuji could feel it trace down his body, a burning once-over the second he walked into Kobayakawa’s office with his mom, and it was just as hot at his back when they left. 

But… track. On a real field, a proper winding turf. Fancy-shmancy _city funded_ turf, wholly different from what his old school offered.

He needed it. 

Kamoshida’s aura be damned. 

Besides, track gave him a little more than running high, as appreciated as it was. 

Akira Kurusu. Ryuji’s height, same skinny build. He had nice hands, Ryuji noticed. He was a distance runner, participated in the jumping events whenever he was needed, someone told Ryuji when he asked, but that was all they ever said. 

When he joined the team at their practice to try out, Akira caught his eye first. For his soft looking black hair, for how it hung over his eyes and made him look mysterious. For the cat he carried around in his school bag, and how no one seemed to notice. Or, if they did, no one said a word about it. 

For the bandages Ryuji would spot wrapped around Akira's arms or ribs when he stole a glance at him changing in the locker room. 

Ryuji tried to ask around the team to learn more about Akira, but their distaste for the two of them was immense. No one wanted to be caught dead talking to the new school delinquent who bleached his hair and had a foul mouth, and neither did they want to talk _about_ the ever elusive, too smart for his own good Akira Kurusu. Delinquent, maybe. Dark past, most definitely. Ryuji swore he heard someone in the halls say Akira lived in the attic of a cafe. 

That was something Ryuji wanted to pursue. If no one wanted anything to do with him, and no one wanted anything to do with Akira, it was practically faith they would be brought together. 

Except, Akira didn’t want anything to do with _him_. 

Ryuji tried. And tried, and tried, and tried time and again to catch Akira’s attention, or ask him to hang out after practice and get some ramen, anything. Yet, Akira would always stare at him for a second, maybe shake his head if Ryuji was lucky, and leave. Leave the track, the locker room, the hallway. 

Akira kept on racking up bruises, though. Some he’d be able to hide, a couple that would make it onto his face. No one asked him about it. Ryuji wanted to, but once he tried, and it went deathly quiet in the locker room and he’d never felt so ostracized in his life. 

In fact, the rest of the track team did as well. Show up with random bruises on their arms or legs, that was.

It was Kamoshida, Ryuji wasn’t stupid enough _not_ to notice. He knew that the students who showed up beaten, bruised and bloody in the morning were always asked to stay behind after practice, to see Kamoshida in the PE office so they could "talk about their form". 

Kamoshida left Ryuji alone, though. Maybe it was because Ryuji was fast, that he didn’t want to hurt Ryuji’s times just yet. _Yet_. But Ryuji could still feel Kamoshida’s fire hot gaze on him whenever he thought Ryuji wouldn’t notice. It was unnerving, but Ryuji just _ran_. He did his drills, sprinted circles and circles and _circles_ around Shujin's fancy city track in hopes it would appease Kamoshida’s temper with him enough to avoid being the next one called to his office. 

To last the season without facing the unfortunate fate that many of the _girls_ already endured.

Ryuji didn’t know what could have possibly been so attractive about him to warrant that type of gaze. Kamoshida always said that delinquents deserved to be put in their place, that he only used his methods to put people back in line. Maybe Ryuji was just vulnerable in a different way from the… girls. The girls Kamoshida picked out. Maybe Kamoshida thought Ryuji was just another apple for the picking instead.

Ryuji had to push it out of his mind. He’d dwell on it, sometimes. Think about how similar Kamoshida was to his father. How’d rather die than have Kamoshida lay a single grubby hand on him.

There was a week before track season would come to a close. Ryuji racked up a decent amount of medals, an award here and there for placing at an inter city meet. Kamoshida hadn’t touched him, which was a blessing he felt he shouldn’t have had to feel, but that was neither here nor there. Every time he tried to fight the abuse that the others faced, convince everyone to _do_ something about it, dammit, he was quickly quieted down. 

No one wanted to pursue anything. No legal action, nothing. 

Only a week left. One final meet the next day, a few more easy practices, and the season would close out. Ryuji was worried about getting too hopeful, but… He’d be alright. If he kept on running, he’d be-- fine. He always had been. 

Practice for the day was a little more lax so the team wouldn’t over exert themselves at the meet for the next day, which was suspiciously unlike Kamoshida. Ryuji supposed it was only fair for it being the end of the season… Though, Kamoshida was never fair. He ran a few extra laps at the end of practice, as much as it burned up his shins with every fall of his sneakers on the turf. It was worth it, when Kamoshida gave him a nod of approval before he left with the others. Akira on his trail.

That wasn't good. Kamoshida’s temper had been off the hook at practice.

Ryuji knew he shouldn’t have craved approval from the man. He shouldn’t have been a little reassured that he wasn’t the one getting hit ( _yet_ , he had to remind himself). Maybe it was because Kamoshida still reminded him of his father, down to the black hair. Maybe he never got reassurance from his father, maybe he _needed--_

A ragged breath was ripped from Ryuji’s chest when he finished his last lap. He didn’t think he could run another one, as badly as he wanted to. The burn reminded him… 

He near finished his water, finally packed up his practice things. Threw his spikes away and recycled his bottle. Ryuji head into the locker room, finally. The plan was to change out of his sweaty gym clothes and book it home so he could eat lunch with his mom before she left for her shift. 

Though, things never went to plan for Ryuji though, did they? 

The door of the locker room creaked open loudly when he made his way inside, and the first thing his eyes laid upon was Akira. More specifically, Akira hunched over on the bench in front of Ryuji… whimpering?

Akira whipped his head upwards the moment he heard the door open, though he winced a second later and clutched at his temple. 

He was looking… considerably worse for wear. His glasses were in his other hand, barely hanging on together by a splint in the plastic between the lenses. Though, his _face--_ a busted lip, eye already closed up from a bruise that hadn’t fully colored yet. It would, in the morning. Ryuji knew how those were. Ugly, dark purple and blue, Akira wouldn’t be able to open his eye for a couple of weeks. 

There were probably tons more under his clothes, mostly on his ribs, if Kamoshida had any trend in his beatings. If Akira was lucky, his legs would have been left alone. 

No one who fell under Kamoshida’s hand was really lucky, though. 

“What?” Akira snapped, and Ryuji looked at the floor when he realized he was staring. 

Ryuji muttered, “He, uh-- He never gets this bad.” 

“Wouldn’t you know?” Akira said, and Ryuji actually winced because… he didn’t. He didn’t know, not with Kamoshida. He was only a bystander. When it came to Kamoshida. 

The team must have resented him even more for it. 

“I’ll go get a kit,” Ryuji said, wanting a moment to be anywhere but there. Akira’s glare was boring holes into his face. 

Akira sneered, “I don’t need your help.” 

“Eff off man, I _wanna_ help.” 

With that, Ryuji did his best not to stomp over to the first aid kit he knew was somewhere near the lockers on the back wall. He _did_ want to help, if Akira would stop being an _ass_ for one second and realize that at Shujin, they really only had each other. _If_ Akira stopped keeping away from Ryuji’s advances every time he tried to spark up a friendship. 

Ryuji found the kit and unhooked it from the wall, rummaged through it to make sure it actually had contents inside it. The team went through kits awfully fast. 

Ryuji stalked over to the bench Akira sat on, hooking a leg over the side so he was riding it like a carnival horse to face Akira. “C’mon,” he muttered, “Look at me so we can fix that eye.”

“I don’t need your help,” Akira repeated. 

“Your bandages look like shit, I’ve seen ‘em when we change. You do them all on your own, don’t ya?” 

Akira refused to look at him, but he fiddled with his broken glasses and spat, “What the hell do you know? You’re his precious trophy boy.” 

_His_. It was never _his_ name with the team. 

“I had an old effin’ man who pulled shit worse than this. _Turn around_.” 

Akira finally looked at him, though the angle of his head only allowed him to peer at Ryuji through a slit in his eyelids. Ouch. That must have hurt. Akira grumbled and threw his leg over the bench so he could finally face Ryuji head on. 

Ryuji sighed, “Alright. I’m gonna start on your face, is that okay?” 

Akira glared at him again, but didn’t say anything. 

“I’m not gonna touch you until you let me,” Ryuji said, and then more softly, “Is this okay?” 

He already had a cotton boll soaked in a little bit of alcohol so he could start with Akira’s lips, but he only hovered it over Akira’s face. 

“Go ahead,” Akira grumbled.

Ryuji nodded, “‘Kay. It’s gonna sting a lil.” 

He got to work, trying to wipe away as much blood around Akira’s lip as he could without irritating the place where it split. It proved to be a little difficult every time Akira winced, but otherwise he worked at it slowly. Just like his mom used to. 

“Y’know,” Ryuji began quietly, just to fill up the silence, “Y’gotta quit avoidin’ me, man. I dunno if you think I bite or somethin’, but no one here likes you, and they don’t like me either.” 

Akira’s eyes fluttered shut at some point, but his scowl deepened. “People like me.”

“Sure they do. That’s why you’re eatin’ lunch alone on the roof, right?” 

“Maybe no one likes you because you’re a stalker.”

Ryuji chuckled at that, breathier than he meant it to be but it fit the atmosphere. Stuffy, a smidge awkward. Akira looked- _felt…-_ broken. Usually he was quiet, unmoving unless he needed to be. Calculated, in a sense. The Akira in front of him looked like an animal with a broken leg, really. His pride was gone. Maybe it was hiding somewhere, if he still had the energy to be snarky. He kept his eyes closed. 

Ryuji wished he could do something to Kamoshida himself. Give him a taste of his own medicine. He knew he couldn’t but… he couldn’t do anything about his dad, either. That was what was wrong with him. He was left to pick up all the pieces, usually. 

“You’re really annoying, you know that,” Akira said. 

Ryuji dropped the cotton ball behind him and pulled out a little tube of ointment from the box that he knew could numb some of the bruises a bit. “I think persistent is a better word.” 

“That too. You’re also... really good at this,” said Akira when Ryuji near-expertly pulled the roll of gauze out and ripped a piece off with his teeth. That, a little bit of medical tape, and Ryuji would have Akira’s face fixed up first. 

“I told ya, years of practice ‘cause of the old man. Used to just be me and my mom, but… eh. Works out now, doesn’t it?” 

Ryuji was close enough to see the bags under Akira’s eyes. The glasses did wonders to hide them normally, but that was just another one of Akira’s masks. 

“You’re awfully chipper about that.” 

Ryuji shrugged and felt himself smile, “It passed. I’m a cool Tokyo boy now.” 

“You’re a weird country boy, that’s what you are.” 

Yeah, Ryuji was. He still had an accent when he spoke. 

“And you carry a cat around in your bag. No place to be callin’ me weird, man.” 

Akira’s shoulders hunched inwards more, but he gave Ryuji his arm when Ryuji gestured for it. Ryuji turned his wrist in his hand, examining the few welts and baby-bruises that would worsen by the morning. “He got ya pretty bad, didn’t he…” 

“You know him.”

Well. Maybe Ryuji didn't know him. Not like Akira, not how the rest of the track team did. 

Ryuji kept quiet after that. Rubbed whatever ointment was left in the tube on the spot on Akira’s arms he could see, wrapped a bandage around the big bits and used some gauze and medical tape on the smaller bruises that hadn’t quite started to show yet. Figured it was a little too soon to be asking Akira to take his shirt off so he could examine the rest, in _any_ context, so he left that alone. If they were lucky, Ryuji wouldn’t need to. Ever. 

Akira didn’t open his eyes once, his breathing was so light Ryuji wondered if he was alive. He was, if he could sit up, but Akira looked calm, for a moment. 

“And _done_ ,” Ryuji sighed when he pushed down the edge of the last bit of medical tape on Akira’s bicep. 

They got closer while Ryuji was fixing him up, though he didn’t realize just _how_ close until Akira finally opened his eyes. Silver, they were… gorgeous. 

Akira flew backwards upon realizing their proximity, near knocking over the open first aid kit between them. 

“Ramen!” Ryuji squeaked, the first thing to come to mind so they wouldn't have to address _that._

Akira cocked his head to the side. “...Huh?”

Ryuji willed the heat creeping up his collar to go away. “Ramen-- We should go get ramen! Me and my mom always went after it, uh- after things got bad. Comfort meal, y’know. You’ll feel way better.” 

Akira swung his leg back over the bench so he was sitting normally and slowly got some of his things behind him, practice bag and all, movement extra careful with the new presence of gauze and bandages limiting his range of motions. 

“Don’t friends get ramen?” 

“We can get ramen as dudes who totally aren’t friends, if it makes you feel _so_ much better.” 

Ryuji resigned himself to sighing and picking himself off the bench as well, grabbing his own bag and throwing it over his shoulder. The ache from his legs was gone, if not a little sore from being kept in the same place for so long. 

Akira muttered, “Sure, whatever.”

“Awesome, man. You’ll be fine without your glasses though, right?”

Akira looked down at the broken glasses still in his hand. “Uh, yeah. Completely fine.” 

Ryuji’s mood had considerably improved since Akira had even agreed to go out to eat with him. Maybe it was because he’d get to look at those eyes again, without the glasses to obscure them. He was finally having a conversation with Akira! The circumstances were less than ideal, but… well, he’d rather it have happened sooner than later. 

Akira finally gathered all of his things, including his bag, and his cat poked its little head through the opening to gaze at Ryuji with its critical blue eyes. Judging him already, somehow. 

“Ready to go? It’s on me.”

“You don’t have to--” 

“I wanna, it’s comfort food. Besides, I’ve been dyin’ to ask-- Is it true that you live in a cafe attic?” 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> this might be my favorite thing ive written for pegoryu week
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/kriswritesthing)!


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